


don’t forget to tip

by awespiring



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M, Fluff and flirting, Strangers to Lovers, peter as the cute barista boy can melt anyone’s heart, the barista au i’ve always needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 09:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16513379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awespiring/pseuds/awespiring
Summary: MJ likes to tip everyone but Peter (just for fun), but he’s a clearly delusional boy that can’t catch on to the actual tips she’s giving him instead.





	don’t forget to tip

**Author's Note:**

> this little fic is brought to you by my shitty iphone x , so ignore any of the typos although i did try to catch as many as i could.
> 
> as for my other fic that i abandoned, i really just lost inspiration for it and it’s been so hard to find it again. i don’t know if i’ll ever come back to that particular story, but i’m definitely try to write more.
> 
> so i hope you enjoy this small blurb of cute crap i wrote over the span of a three hour car ride. leave comments and kudos becaus i love em and you all! xo

Michele Jones would never openly admit her addiction to coffee, but she lived off of it. Her friends would swear her body ran off of it and that instead of blood running through her veins, it was the sickeningly sugary coffee she always consumed. She had visited practically every coffee shop in the Queens area and then some, but there was one that she kept coming back to, more than she would like to admit. 

It started off as her go-to when she was running late or had a sudden nightly craving. It was a couple blocks down from her apartment complex and a perfect walking distance from all the local stores. Not to mention they were a twenty-four seven shop with WiFi better than the service she was paying a shitload for. It wasn’t just a coffee shop, it was a study place—a getaway from her hectic life. 

Also, they had pretty cute baristas.

MJ would never admit it, but she had a favorite. A boy about her age, unkempt brown curls and brown eyes to match, with an uncanny knack for wearing pun-related graphic tees (it should be noted that they were only science related, and MJ loved that) and stuttering any time MJ tried to talk to him. 

She loved baiting and playing with guys that she never had any intention of doing things with, but she never tried with him. They had formed a nice acquaintanceship over the first few visits. He would always ask about the newest book she was reading because yes, MJ had a new book every single day. It was a special talent, allowing herself to be so engrossed in a book that she could finish close to 500 pages in a day. Anybody else would go mentally insane, but not MJ. 

“What is it today?” The boy asks, eyeing her from across the counter.

MJ snorts and hands him a worn out five dollar bill, sliding the book across the counter.

“Handmaid’s Tale,” MJ tells him in sultry voice, before laughing again, “fucked up, but really worth the read.”

The familiar ding of the coffee machine pulls both of their attention away from the conversation and then he’s shoving the cup across the counter and MJ takes it with a smile before retreating to her small corner of the cafe and opens her laptop, shoving her USB into the port with unnecessary force. The boy watches with a sort of fondness, but ignores it otherwise.

He also shouldn’t feel jealous when she’s been there over an hour and another barista walks over to ask if she wants a bagel or dessert—but he does—and she says yes. He watches the exchange and the smile on her face as she slides him a tip along with the actual money she owes. 

Maybe he wasn’t her favorite.

It wasn’t until her tenth visit that she learned his name. MJ surmised that his name had to be Parker or something along the lines, because all of the other boys would only refer to him as such and he was the only one without a name tag. 

Luckily, she was feeling extra feisty today, having woke up in a good mood for once—so she put on her best face, pulled her hair back out of her face for once and trotted down to the shop.

“Hey Parker—black with two sugars, please.” She slams her book against the counter, this time a book of photography, but she would never admit it was her own—mostly because no one asked.

The boy clears his throat and tries to fix his bug-eyed and shellshocked look on his face. He quips back just as fast, though.

“Peter.” He quickly corrects, “It’s Peter...Parker.”

“Well,” She drawls our, licking her tongue against her bottom lip, “Peter—can I get a black with two sugars then?”

“Three dollars and forty-seven cents.” Peter answers, tapping the screen on the register. 

MJ can’t help but notice his eyes wonder as she hands over the money and it almost makes her clutch the book to her chest in fear, because there’s nothing more she hates then being judged or ridiculed.

“That your work?” He asks casually while pouring the liquid into the cup, “You’re a photographer?”

She was totally taking a risk her and instead of making up some half-assed lie, she gives him the honest truth and she doesn’t know why.

“Uh, no. I work for the Daily Bugle actually...as a photographer.” 

Peter almost spills the entire coffee over his apron and MJ has to force herself to hold back the snort that almost escapes her.

“Are you serious?” He asks after he regains his composure. 

“Yeah.” 

It’s all Peter needs to hear to understand that she’s sensitive about the subject and is obviously telling him something she doesn’t normally share with random baristas. 

“That’s really cool. I was hoping to get a job there after this semester of college.”

Her eyebrows perk up at that, taking the coffee as he hands it to her. And she feels a dangerous thought forming in her head that she decides to go with—on a whim. She quickly snatched a napkin from across the counter and scribbles down some numbers and her name before shoving it at him.

“Text or call me when you’re interested in getting an interview. I can put in a word with my boss and help you get hired.”

It was the second time in the span of five minutes that he was at a loss for words. MJ couldn’t even believe that she had committed to it or gave him her number, which is something she never gives out like that.

Peter was something else, though. Interesting and mysterious and everything MJ was addicted to. But, she couldn’t turn him into another one of her projects. She wouldn’t. 

There were three more times that MJ comes in after that fateful day. She gets a coffee from Peter before taking her seat at the table in the designated corner for her, and then some other nice boy comes by and asks if she’s hungry—she’s totally being nice, because most of the time she won’t even eat it and end up giving it to the homeless man a couple blocks down. She pays and tips them anyways, because she’s friendly and notices the way Peter stares at her every time she does it. 

“So, what does MJ stand for exactly?” Peter asks out of the blue one night. It was one of the rare times when she had a project to finish last minute and needed the quiet and secluded space to concentrate. She barely glances up from her laptop. Peter he stopped cleaning the counter to look at her.

“MJ.” She says simply, not have the mental strength to hold a conversation. 

“You know my name,” He counters, like a child, “I can’t know yours?”

“Michelle.” She mumbles around the pen she’s currently chewing on.”

“I’m sorry—what was that?” Peter asks, knowing good and well that he heard her.

“Michelle. My name is Michelle Jones, you idiot. Now do your job before your boss gets you in trouble.” She tells him, jerking her head in the direction of the head managed who was watching Peter from across the room, not so discreetly. 

“Can’t have everyone’s favorite barista getting fired for flirting with a girl.” She adds quietly.

There’s an underlying smirk on her face that Peter doesn’t catch and she’s thankful for that.

He’s not everyone’s favorite. He’s her favorite. But, he doesn’t have to know that. Not yet, anyways.

“So, can I ask you a question?” Peter asks one morning, an off-day where the cafe was unnaturally dead. “For a friend.”

Michelle doesn’t say anything, only squints her eyes in return. A friend. But, Peter takes that as a yes and continues despite her silence. 

“He likes this girl, but they don’t really know each other—they see each other a lot but he’s not sure how to ask her out. What would you do?” 

And oh, how clueless this boy is.

“What—is this friend in college or something?”

There’s a pause and she can tell that he’s making up the story as he goes. He clearly hadn’t planned ahead. Michelle doesn’t know whether to find it cute or concerning. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, he is.”

She hums and nods her head, “Well, if it was me—I would just go for it. Doesn’t hurt to ask. You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take, right?”

“Are you quoting Wayne Gretzky, right now?” Peter asks, “This is serious.”

“Serious? You were just asking for a friend, right? It can’t be that serious.” MJ tells him, tongue against her cheek as she watches him flounder.

“He’s just really nervous about it, you know?” Peter says with a shrug.

“Oh, I know.” 

At this point, they’ve known each other for well over a few months and at first Peter wasn’t annoyed by the tipping, but now it’s weird and he shouldn’t fell this jealous but he does. He is the only one who can hold a conversation with her and can get some actual advice out of her, so that’s a plus. MJ usually doesn’t try to engage in conversation with anyone but him, but that’s probably because she’s generally annoyed by everything.

So, he has to ask her. It’s killing him inside because he thinks that maybe she finds him annoying and doesn’t want to be rude or actually secretly hates him and likes making fun of him to the other workers. 

It’s a Thursday when she walks into the shop after a long day of work and he all but spits it out as she reaches the counter, scaring the crap out of MJ.

“Is there a reason you never tip me?” He asks.

“What?”

“It’s not that it really bothers me or anything. But, you know—you do it for all the other guys in here and I thought that maybe you didn’t like me and you were just trying to be nice by talking to me and it’s cool if you find me annoying I’ll stop trying to talk to you but—“

Michelle has to stop him before he pops a blood vessel in his face. This poor kid was so clueless. 

“Here’s a tip, Peter— if a girl offers you her number and is nice enough to also offer you a job and talk to you every time she comes in her then she’s clearly going to say yes if you ask her out. You just have to grow the balls to actually do it.”

Her arms are crossed over her chest, waiting. 

He stammers several times before he can finally form a sentence or coherent thought. He shouldn’t find it hot that she had basically outed him for being a wimp and not asking her out—which he wants to punch himself for not doing when she first gave him her number—but he does.

“Everyone’s staring, Michelle.” It’s the first time he’s said her name and it sounds like music to her ears. She doesn’t remember him ever calling her by her full name, even after confessing it to him. But, she loves the sound of it.

“Want another tip? You care too much what people think, Peter. Do what you want. Don’t worry about everyone else.”

“Fine.” He says firmly, pulling the string off his apron and yanking it off before slamming it dramatically on the counter. “Michelle Jones, will you go on a date with me?”

She hesitates just to fuck with him and she can see the sudden panic in his eyes like he had read this whole situation wrong, but she quickly puts him out of his misery.

“Sure, you dork. I’ll go on a date with you.”

“Really?” His voice cracks at the end and she can’t help but laugh, “I mean—cool, cool. Okay.”

“Don’t ever say I didn’t tip you. Because I give damn good advice.”

Peter can’t help but laugh because it had taken him a long time to realize that her way of tipping him was the subtle flirting and finding random reasons to talk to him or allowing him to talk to her for hours. He was never going to complain about tips again. Ever.


End file.
